[ That is one of the stranger things about Caelus, really: the ambiguity of him. Did he lie, or did he actually fall on purpose? He presents himself as something so very simple. A heroic Trailblazer, yes, easy to believe in. Stoic, straight-faced, mostly selfless and sometimes selfish — prone to saying ridiculous and incomprehensible things on the rare occasions he does open his mouth. Probably stupid. The type of single-brain-celled creature that everyone has met before in the pages of a book.
The issue with this first impression he offers people is that his amber gaze is entirely too analytical when he stares at his surroundings as the others are talking, and sometimes, when he pulls Welt Yang aside to discuss the intricacies of their political situation, Caelus's observations are even more incisive than those conjured up by Dan Heng.
You're always pretending to be quiet, March grumbled to him once, with peevish, sisterly exasperation. It says a lot that even she's aware that he's mostly pretending to be a lot of things.
That being said, he's not in control. Caelus is a lot of things, but he's rarely, if ever, in control.
Case in point: the imperceptible bass pulse of the Stellaron is stuttering. It wouldn't be an issue for anyone else, but Luocha has enough experience with Stellarons to detect and track the one inside of Caelus. It's — what is it doing? Stumbling. Skipping. Like a racing heart.
(The fact that it is in sync with Caelus's heartbeat is objectively fascinating. Mostly because: it shouldn't be. The Stellaron ought to be a separate entity, its own lifeform, clawing to get out. It should find the ebbs and flows of his body stifling, exhausting; it should long to conquer more. But the one inside of Caelus has apparently acclimated to its environment, calm and settled, as though it's always belonged there. Less a cancer and more like... co-evolution?)
Caelus can't hear anything but the pounding of his own pulse in his ears. There's nothing on the Trailblazer's face that suggests he is flustered. Maybe a dusting of pink on his cheeks — or maybe that's just the lantern lights. His expression is as neutral as always. It's not as though he's some pining schoolboy. It's just. This is embarrassing. They're holding hands in a handwich and Luocha's flawless face is looking at him much too intently, and he's really not used to being the subject of undivided personal attention. ]
Nah. We don't have one. [ He can't hold the merchant's gaze any longer. Awkwardly, Caelus stares at a middle point over the man's shoulder instead, feeling too conscious of the drape of his blond hair. ] March can use her ice to make shields or hold wounds together for a minute, but no one can really... heal.
[ What is he doing. What are they doing. What if Mr. Yang came by to be like "Sorry to interrupt... whatever is going on here." That would be nice. Where is he. On reflex, Caelus brushes his thumb over Luocha's knuckles and blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind: ]
Your gloves are really soft.
[ Caelus thinks he finally understands the phrase buttery-soft leather, and resolves to keep his mind locked on that for at least the next thirty seconds. ]
no subject
The issue with this first impression he offers people is that his amber gaze is entirely too analytical when he stares at his surroundings as the others are talking, and sometimes, when he pulls Welt Yang aside to discuss the intricacies of their political situation, Caelus's observations are even more incisive than those conjured up by Dan Heng.
You're always pretending to be quiet, March grumbled to him once, with peevish, sisterly exasperation. It says a lot that even she's aware that he's mostly pretending to be a lot of things.
That being said, he's not in control. Caelus is a lot of things, but he's rarely, if ever, in control.
Case in point: the imperceptible bass pulse of the Stellaron is stuttering. It wouldn't be an issue for anyone else, but Luocha has enough experience with Stellarons to detect and track the one inside of Caelus. It's — what is it doing? Stumbling. Skipping. Like a racing heart.
(The fact that it is in sync with Caelus's heartbeat is objectively fascinating. Mostly because: it shouldn't be. The Stellaron ought to be a separate entity, its own lifeform, clawing to get out. It should find the ebbs and flows of his body stifling, exhausting; it should long to conquer more. But the one inside of Caelus has apparently acclimated to its environment, calm and settled, as though it's always belonged there. Less a cancer and more like... co-evolution?)
Caelus can't hear anything but the pounding of his own pulse in his ears. There's nothing on the Trailblazer's face that suggests he is flustered. Maybe a dusting of pink on his cheeks — or maybe that's just the lantern lights. His expression is as neutral as always. It's not as though he's some pining schoolboy. It's just. This is embarrassing. They're holding hands in a handwich and Luocha's flawless face is looking at him much too intently, and he's really not used to being the subject of undivided personal attention. ]
Nah. We don't have one. [ He can't hold the merchant's gaze any longer. Awkwardly, Caelus stares at a middle point over the man's shoulder instead, feeling too conscious of the drape of his blond hair. ] March can use her ice to make shields or hold wounds together for a minute, but no one can really... heal.
[ What is he doing. What are they doing. What if Mr. Yang came by to be like "Sorry to interrupt... whatever is going on here." That would be nice. Where is he. On reflex, Caelus brushes his thumb over Luocha's knuckles and blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind: ]
Your gloves are really soft.
[ Caelus thinks he finally understands the phrase buttery-soft leather, and resolves to keep his mind locked on that for at least the next thirty seconds. ]